Through the Eyes of John Watson
by Xin0Lan
Summary: Sherlock's fear of losing his vision just might become a reality. Without those brilliant eyes analysing every detail, what is there left for him? The Work is everything to Sherlock, that is Sherlock's life. How will the two of them cope with the possible reality? No slash or culgarity. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.
1. To See

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A-N:Thank you to my lovely and amazing beta readers who graciously critique this story!

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**Chapter 1**

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Panting heavily, Sherlock and John collapsed against the cold brick building, laughing heartily at their success. They had just finished chasing the four suspects down the back alleys around Cardiff, right into the waiting arms of the stunned group of clueless Yard officers.

"We're not supposed to be laughing Sherlock! This is a crime scene…."

"You're one to speak, look at yourself! Laughing so hard you can barely catch your breath!"

"I know, I know. They were morons, you know…thinking that they could have gotten away; guess they didn't think we could keep up with them."

"It was very unintelligent of them, highly illogical. With my long legs and your military training they didn't stand a chance of getting away in the darkness. That, and the only way out of this maze is to turn right, then left after passing the back door to the warehouse, and then right after the second door, but they chose to keep running straight. Idiots!"

"Yes they're idiots, Sherlock. Of course, by your definition, almost the entirety of London is an idiot. Not everyone has the layout of the entire city in their heads." Ignoring Sherlock's feeble protests, he added, "The case is done. Let's go. Lestrade is giving us a lift back to London."

"Fine," Sherlock huffed as he pushed against the wall to stand up. Suddenly his balance was compromised, and his vision began to spin.

_Did John notice? Surely not, it was very brief. I must have stood up too fast. This rarely happens. Maybe I should eat? When did I last eat? Yes. Two days ago, I had a light lunch in a café just after we arrived in Cardiff. I'm sure John is hungry. He hasn't eaten anything since this morning save for four small digestives and two cups of tea._

"Lestrade! John is hungry. He needs to eat; I'm assuming you must also. Let's stop at the café before we go home. It's a long ride. A hungry John doesn't bode well for a travelling companion. He gets in those dreadful sour moods."

"Who said I was hungry!" John chimed in, 'Sherlock don't put words in my mouth, but yes I am actually starving."

"I thought I'd never hear the Great Sherlock Holmes ask for food," Lestrade commented with a cheeky grin, "If I didn't know better, I would think you were hungry. You won't admit it, but I can tell you're starving. Look at how pale you are! I'm surprised you have enough energy to stand, much less run after criminals."

"Of course I need food! Don't be ridiculous Lestrade! Just because I don't eat regularly like you simple-minded people doesn't mean I never eat at all. I would starve to death! Boring. But it's a waste of time—eating—it slows down the brain's ability to process information."

"Alright! Hurry up and get in the car!" the inspector barked at them, "Let's go!"


	2. The Little Things

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**Chapter 2**

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Once arriving back to their flat, Mrs. Hudson greeted them with her motherly concerns. Finally, John and Sherlock finally make it up to the sitting room. As John went to make tea, Sherlock flops ungracefully on the settee and falls in to a state that could only be described at catatonic. He was running madly through his Mind Palace.

"Sherlock! Sherlock! Do you want a cup? If you do not answer I am going to assume you do not want one.", John shouts from the kitchen.

"Yes John", he mumbles barely loud enough for the doctor to hear, and retreats into his Mind Palace.

_What exactly happened back at Cardiff? I should not worry, it is probably nothing. Worrying is an emotion, I am above emotions- emotions do not control me. John did not say anything, so it must not be important. If it was, then, he would have mentioned it. He is a doctor after all, besides he is always on my case making me take better care of myself. Oh the good doctor, just doing his job... _

He could hear John's clipped pleading voice in his head.

_Sherlock, you NEED to eat. Sherlock, you NEED to sleep. As in actually sleep, not running madly in your Mind Palace. Do not tell me you are not in your Mind Palace. I know you can hear me, so I am going to keep talking until you pay attention to me. Listen to me Sherlock! Your eyes flutter, your hands twitch subtly, and you practically stopped breathing at one point. This HAS to stop Sherlock. You will do yourself great harm….._

_Ah John, my good doctor, you worry too much. I am perfectly fine. I am better than you simple-minded people. No John, do not take offense, you know perfectly what I imply. I do not require much sleep, or food and I'm perfectly capable and alert. Do stop nagging on me. It's not very becoming, and you know that will make people talk. I know how you can't stand that at all._

"What was that Sherlock? I heard you snickering", John inquires coming into the sitting room with two steaming cups.

John's voice pulls Sherlock out of the bantering going on in his mind. "It was nothing", Sherlock replies stoically then taking a sip nearly scalding his throat on the Earl Grey.

"OK….Now that the case is solved, are you going to eat? I mean, are you going to eat a _proper _meal with grains, vegetables, and meat?", John ventured tentatively.

"Fine! If you insist I need food then let us go to Angelo's", Sherlock said whilst springing off the settee in a single bound, and promptly stumbled into the coffee table with barely enough time to catch himself.

John rushed over to steady his friend and eyeing him all over with the analysing of a doctor.

"Sherlock! Are you alright? Maybe we should forgo the dinner outing, just _this _once. You do not look well and I have _never _seen you run into anything, especially this table. Who knows how many times you've leapt over this poor table abused decked out with countless scratches and bullet shots, and _now_ you just tripped over it!", John asked with a worry expression clearly etched on his face.

"I'm fine. Just. Fine.". Sherlock hissed shaking free of John's hold and donned his coat and scarf, taking care to turn up the collar just to annoy John.

_How I like to annoy John, it makes for a different reaction every single time. A good experiment is hard to ignore. _

"Get your coat and let's go. Hurry up. Are you alright? You have never suggested that I don't eat.", Sherlock rattles off trying to distract John's ever watchful eye on his well-being.

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A-N: Thank you once again for reading! I do appreciate the feedback.


	3. To Acutally Eat

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** Chapter 3**

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Get your coat and let's go. Hurry up. Are you alright? You have never suggested that I don't eat. Maybe you", he rattles off trying to distract John's ever watchful eye on Sherlock's well-being. Taking the stairs two at a time, both of them make it to Angelo's in record time.

Announcing his entrance quite ungracefully with his coat tails trailing behind him wildly Sherlock takes his usual seat at the window noticing every detail, leaving John to follow behind hiding trying to his embarrassment for their entrance.

"Hello Angelo. We are here to eat, actually eat. Both of us this time." glaring at John mildly.

"We'll have the usual please."

"Angelo, skip the candle this time, would you? Thank you. This isn't a date after all. Never was and never will be."

"Sure, be right out with the food", said Angelo.

With Sherlock still focused on the scenery ever changing, John fiddles with his serviette and sips his water until he decided now is as good as any time to question Sherlock.

_"It's not as if Sherlock could go anywhere…we made and deal and I am going to make Sherlock eat a proper meal whether he likes it or not."_

"Sherlock. Look at me. Please. This is important", John begins and pauses looking away and taking a sip of water.

_"With John most thing are considered 'important' when they are actually trivial, but a pause usually suggests otherwise. Usually about me. This is not a good start. He could be asking what happened at Cardiff. I should have refused the dinner outing. Ugh!"_

"Yes John?" his clear blue eyes burning a hole to John's expression.

"It's…It's about the case at Cardiff. Well actually what happened after that, I noticed your behaviour was a bit off. Want to elaborate? Don't leave anything out, I will find out soon enough."

_"What do I say? What can I say? He did notice. Great. Just great. No point beating around the bush. I can't stand that, especially when Anderson does that. That idiot! How he even manages a job is a mystery. Focus Sherlock! Think! Just tell him what he saw, surely that'll please John. For now at least."_

"Your concern for my behaviour is duly noted and appreciated, but entirely not necessary. I simply got up too fast after chasing those criminals."

"Sherlock" John dragged his name out. "There's more, don't hide it. Tell me."

"Fine.", he said and pouted.


	4. To Hide and Not Seek

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**Chapter 4**

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"It's…It's about the case at Cardiff. Well actually what happened after that, I noticed your behaviour was a bit off. Want to elaborate? Don't leave anything out, I will find out soon enough."

_"What do I say? What can I say? He did notice. Great. Just. Great. No point beating around the bush. I can't stand that, especially when Anderson does that. That idiot! How he even manages a job is a mystery. Focus Sherlock! Think! Just tell him what he saw, surely that'll please John. For now at least…"_

"Your concern for my behaviour is duly noted and appreciated, but entirely not necessary. I simply got up too fast after chasing those criminals."

"Sherlock", John dragged his name out. "There is more, do not hide it. Tell me."

"Fine.", he said and pouted contemplating what he should begin with. "I stood up too fast and lost my balance because I didn't eat 'properly', according to your definition, so I lacked sufficient energy, as for running into the table, the same reason applies", Sherlock stated matter-of-factly.

"Right... but you insisted that '_I_' or rather meant _'we'_ should have something to eat before we left. Since then you have also snacked on biscuits and had tea. Your logic doesn't make sense Sherlock. You should not have been feeling malnourished when you practically fell on the table. You ate not too long before then AND had tea."

Sherlock avoided his gaze knowing John was too good of a friend and doctor to let the matter drop.

_"__Why does he have to be so good all the time? I know he care for me, wants me to do what I want but make sure I don't do anything dumb. Argh! This is frustrating. I can't let him know how I feel, that would show emotions. I am above my emotions. I control them..."_

"Sherlock, I am waiting for a reply to my question. Don't stall and think I will drop the matter", said John as he drummed his fingers quietly on the table.

_"__Wow! Is John a mind-reader? When did he become observant and deduce situations? This is scary." _

"It is nothing John. Don't worry about me. You worry too much. It is t good for your health. You know that don't you? I am fine. Just. Fine. Perfectly. Fine." Then Sherlock took a large bite of food to avoid the uneasiness of John's interrogating.

"Alright Mr. '_I'm so smart I can deduce a crime scene in five minuets but can attempt to lie to a doctor_', How do you define "Fine" when your head is throbbing constantly and your occasional stiff and unsteady gait when you move? Hmmm...?" John's eyes drilled deep into Sherlock's subtly shocked expression.

_"This is definitely not good. Not good at all. I am never suggesting eating again. Why does he keep asking anyway? He can probably deduce all he needs to know. He's a doctor! I'm confident in his abilities to observe patients. Now that is a dreadful thought. Me! A patient! I can't stand hospitals or the staff. Most of them are so brainless even with their fancy degrees and letters after their name..." _

"I have been feeling unwell recently, I'm sure you have notice that. I brushed it off as the result of little sleep or food, but perhaps this is something new. Do not even think about taking me to St. Bart's for an examination. I loathe that place entirely, except for the morgue and the two decent persons there; Mike and Molly."

"OK Sherlock, you win this time. If I find you experiencing any more discomfort we are heading straight for St. Bart's. No questions or protests. That is non-debatable. Understand?" , John said in his clipped voice reserved only for when he was the commanding officer in Afghanistan.

"Fine. Let us go home."

Sherlock slowly rose from his seat and supported himself with the back of the chair too hard, his knuckles started to turn colours. John noticed all the subtleties, but chose not to make a scene of it knowing it would only anger Sherlock and then their evening would be ruined, a mad Sherlock that would abuse the poor violin until all hours of the night or frantic pacing in the sitting room constantly. It is really still a mystery to know how their wonderful 'landlady-not-your-house-keeper' could manage any kind of rest with Sherlock's kind of moods.

As they walked back to their flat, John noticed Sherlock's usual form was compromised. He could just imagine the dangers Sherlock might end up in in that state coming quickly.

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TBC

A-N: Thank you so much for the nice comment you leave me. I enjoy reading and responding to them!


	5. The Truth In Lies and Vice Versa

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**Chapter 5**

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About half way back to their flat, Sherlock twice nearly fell off the pavement heading into oncoming traffic and once almost hit the street lamp had it not been for John's quick reflexes reeling Sherlock back into a straight path.

_"__We are definitely visiting St. Bart's as soon as possible. Sherlock's behaviour is dangerous and unsettling. I __need __answers. Wow! I sound like Sherlock now, demanding everything. Scary thought! He must be rubbing off on me with good and bad traits. I mean, I __would like__ to have some answers; at least it will rest my mind. I am worried. This behaviour is definitely not usual and syncope can be a symptom of several different diagnoses."_

Stumbling their way back to the flat was quite an ordeal that left both men exhausted and going up the stairs was an even greater effort. Sherlock obviously didn't look well at all; his colour seemed paler than usual, considering the man-child hardly ate properly, was sprawled out ungracefully on the settee with a thick orange blanket draped over his frail frame. John was worn out from practically dragging Sherlock over a distanced that should not have taken more than ten minutes; instead it had taken them almost half an hour. Finally with both of them seated in the respective places. John dared to ask again, hoping he would find out new information.

"Sherlock, how do you feel? Is your head still throbbing and feeling nauseous?"

"No, I am fine. Do not bother asking, John. I know what you are going to ask, so save yourself the trouble and do not. I will not answer." Sherlock lied, hoping John could not see through it.

"Sherlock. Listen to me. I cannot just toss the matter aside like you can. This is important to me, besides I would not be a good doctor if I did not ask how you are feeling. "

"Your skills as a doctor are outstanding, John. I have faith I am in good hands, but I am not your patient so do not treat me as one. I do not have to say anything at all."

"Alright. I will not mention it for now at least. Seeing as you are currently in a compromised state, would you like to watch a film? It might take your mind off the pain some since you have refused pills. Mary lent me some and I think you might like one or two of them."

"A film would be welcomed distraction. Where's my phone? I need a case from Lestrade. I do not want my brain rotting for a couple of hours watching some useless." Just as Sherlock finished his sentence he swung to his feet and was promptly pushed back to a reclining position by John's strong hand.

"No Sherlock! You will not have a case, you JUST solved one. Can you not rest for a day, your brilliant-better-than-everyone-else's brain will not rot in a mere twenty-four hours. Now you are going to stay on this settee and watch a film. You are going to rest. R-E-S-T. That means no running or pacing or experimenting for the whole entire evening. Now, if you do not pick one then I will. I do not want you complaining the whole way through the film. It really rather annoying having your voice cover the characters with shouts and rants every five minutes.

_"__Honestly, it is as if I am trying to reason with a five year old. He is unbelievable! Who knew it would be THIS difficult to get Sherlock to stay still. He is Sherlock and Sherlock is well…Sherlock. He always has to do things the hard way but still, for crying out loud- this man-child is feeling ill and he wants to go chasing after criminals AGAIN. _

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_A-N: Comments are greatly valued. Thank you for reading._


	6. The Worst: Is It over or Coming?

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**Chapter 6**

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Once they went through the whole ordeal of choosing a film and manage to watch a good portion of it before Sherlock felt the need to voice his 'brilliant' deductions.

_"Well he could not keep his mouth shut forever, could he? Of course not! He is Sherlock Holmes, the one who has to have the last word always. He will try to outlive God having the last word. That will be the death of him one day. His stubborn pride. Just as the adage says pride before a fall..."_

Little by little Sherlock stopped talking and started to pay attention the film. John relished those precious moments of silence and enjoyed the film knowing at any moment those rants would start up again.

Surprisingly those two hours was not as dreadful as John thought it would have been. Usually watching a film was a great task for either of them so they rarely did that. Sherlock had fallen asleep nearing the last quarter of it and slept soundly.

He continued to sleep on the settee until the sun rose the following day. John had not the heart to wake a man so desperate of sufficient rest. Besides Sherlock spent so much time on the settee sometimes in a catatonic state, he figured it must have been just as comfortable as sleeping in a bed.

Now it was nearing midday and Sherlock had not stirred slightly.

John felt very concerned. The medical training instinctively switched on and was soon examining Sherlock thoroughly with his medical supplies. His body temperature was dangerously high; it was obvious Sherlock felt very cold, flinching at every movement of John's touch. . Little tremours escapes his body every time John examines him.

_Sherlock. Sherlock. Wake up. You need to get up. I know you haven't slept much recently but you need to get up. I have to look you over and make sure nothing wrong. You have a fever and it is far too high. Dangerously high. _

Sherlock stirred slightly at John's touch and moaned. He then slowly became semi-coherent. His eyes were glassy but clearly in pain by his expression causes by his head which seemed to have intensified when he was sleeping.

"My head! John" ,he rasped. "It hurts! So. Much." Then squeezed his eyes shut and trembling suddenly trying to fight a bolt of pain went through his body when the midday sun flooded into his eyes.

John held a cold cloth over Sherlock's face to ease the tension in his brow.

_Relax Sherlock. That will make you feel more comfortable. Breathe slowly. In and out. Slow deep breaths. Yes. Just stay calm. I will go fetch the medication. You must take now it will help with the pain. _

John returned with a glass of water and the pills in hand.

_Here Sherlock you need to sit up. Just for a moment until you can take them. _

_Come on. I will help you up. _

Supporting the frail man on his arm sent shivers through John. It terrified him, Sherlock was so thin and feeling in distress, he didn't even have the energy to speak a word of protest.

With Sherlock holding the pills in one hand and groping for the water glass with the other nearly sent John into an emotional fit.

_His best friend. His only friend was so ill. He was so scared. _

"Alright. I'm letting you lay here for a bit longer, if you do not improve within the next hour we are going Saint Bart's. I will have Molly and Mycroft alerted. No protest. I don't want your fever to climb any more than what it already is." John spoke softly.

_No John. Keep it together. You are doctor. Do not show your emotions until you are done being "doctor". Think like Sherlock! Emotions are dangerous._

The next hour dragged on slowly, Sherlock was still shivering even under two duvets and a thick blanket, and the worst was just confirmed with the 'beep' of the thermometer. His fever had gone up.

_Wonderful! Just wonderful! He needs medical attention. A high fever is the perfect medium for many other complications. _

_Sherlock. I need you to wake up. We are going to the hospital. Your fever has risen and needs to be treated quickly. I know you're in a lot of pain but I need you to sit up. Mycroft's men are here to transport us to Saint Bart's_.

Reluctantly Sherlock struggles to pick his torso off the settee falling back into John's arms keeping him propped up.

_Since when did I ever take ill? I hardly succumb to bacterium or virus. What is happening to me? Why am I aching and freezing all over? Where is John? I need John. Why will my head not stop pounding on my brain? It hurts too much to think._

Taking in the surrounding as best he could, Sherlock saw nothing more than a few hazy outlines of figures. He had heard John's voice, with that confirmation of his best friend's presence, Sherlock lapsed back into a catatonic state.

Then John saw something he prayed he'd never have to lay eyes on again.

He saw Death. His _only friend_ was not breathing. Those clear blue eyes were staring emptily at the ceiling and his face was nearing the colour of his favourite shirt. An ever so faint pulse confirmed he was still hanging onto life, but Death's murderous hands started to suffocate Life. Death was waiting for the Moment. Not yet, but Death was biding his time to finish what he had planned.

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A-N: Thank you for reading.


	7. Seeking Answers

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**Chapter 7**

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With each passing moment John's patience was thinning out, with the mind of a doctor he imagined every possibility that could have brought Sherlock to such a state, to which, did little to calm his poor frazzled nerves. Pacing the floor frantically and running his hands across his face, he jumped internally at each noise hoping it would the doctors coming to update him in Sherlock's condition.

He understood how hospital functioned, the staff worked hard and was through, but that also meant a lot of time was needed to make it so. He could hear a murmur of urgent voices emanating from Sherlock's room, it only increases his state of worry.

___"Sherlock, you better be alright! I will never let this go if you are not! Please. For me, your friend not colleague. Your best friend. Stop this charade! Don't do anything stupid! Stop pulling this trick on me, you said yourself you hardly take ill ever. Why all of a sudden? Why to this degree which lands us in the hospital?" What is wrong with you? What symptoms did I miss, are my observations from a medical standpoint decreasing? he though in his mind burning with fury and concern."_

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Thanks to Mycroft's hand in the matter the Sherlock had a personal room far from the usual hubbub of commotion. Sherlock hated being in crowded places unless it was absolutely necessary- which usually meant something related to The Work that brought him to the busy streets of London. He normally would stay in the flat or head directly to the Yard via cabby, never by Tube...save for that one instance where he came home bloodied from harpooning a pig.

_...well that was tedious..._

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The ride to the hospital was quite stressful for everyone. Sherlock's vitals kept fluctuating constantly which kept the paramedics and John constantly attentive to all the details, especially to Sherlock's breathing.

_"If I ever had to see that sight again, I very well could be next to Sherlock in the back of the ambulance with paramedics hoovering over me too. Out of all the time spent in hospitals and out on the deserts of Afghanistan, a purple-faced Sherlock ranked pretty high on my list of extremely traumatic events. I still don't understand why he lost consciousness. He was responsive when I roused him telling that I was taking him to Saint Bart's. His temperature had climbed despite the medicine I administer for the pain and fever ..."_

At long last the doctor came and discussed the circumstances, Sherlock was stable, just exhausted. John rushed into his room and breathed a sigh of relief. _Sherlock was alright. He was going to live. Thank God for that!_

_"Sherlock, how do you feel?", _John mustered as cheerful as possible hiding his concern._  
_

"Fine. Perfectly. Fine.", Sherlock slurred and winced slightly at the bright lights flooding into his eyes.

"Really? Fine? Is there any other word you know to describe your state besides 'Fine' because obviously 'Fine' changes meaning far too much. I'll be the judge of exactly how 'fine' you are. Just lay still Sherlock and close your eyes. Care to elaborate this feeling of 'fine'? ", John asked drawing the curtains closed and dimming the lights.

Sherlock crossed his arms and huffed in response, laid there for several minuets with his eyes close before he started to speak, catching John off guard.

"John, why am I here? I take that the doctors have sedated me mildly. My mind is feeling sluggish. I remember you telling me to take some pills and later on I heard a lot of commotion. It was very annoying and difficult for me to concentrate." Sherlock rasped.

_Why did Sherlock have to ask this now? I cannot answer it thought it pains for not being able to do so. I want to know what brought us here too. _

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A-N: Thank you immensely to all my wonderful readers who leave me such lovely you for your patience too. Between this update and the past one has been quite some time. I had several essays to write for my courses and that too time out of writing this story. Thank you for waiting!  
I do hope that you gather more from this story than it just being another 'sob story' about Sherlock. Yes it is sad in some parts, but I hope it humours you in others. As always, comments are greatly valued!  
Xx


	8. No News is Good News- Right?

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**Chapter 8**

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_Why did Sherlock have to ask this now? I cannot answer it, though it pains me for not being able to do so. I want to know what brought us here too._

"John, why am I here? People die in hospitals. I thought you liked me. I do not intend to die any time soon. I had always thought my life would be cut short, given my profession, but to die in the near coming future is considered "jumping the gun", don't you think?"

"Sherlock, your flair for sarcasm never ceases even when you're ill. How that is ever so is beyond me!"

Sherlock sniggered softly before responding. "My mind is superior to yours, of course I can function when not feeling up to my normal standards. I take that the doctors have sedated me mildly. My mind is feeling sluggish. I remember you telling me to take some pills and later on I heard a lot of commotion. It was very annoying and difficult for me to concentrate." Sherlock rasped.

"Sherlock, this is not the time to discuss your present condition. You need to regain your strength and let the sedative leave your system. Ok? Try not to do anything rash while I go speak with the doctor.", John spoke quickly.

"Fine.", Sherlock said in a soft but clipped voice. "Do not be away for too long or I might get bored and do something "rash", according to your words.

Returning a couple hours later, John shuffles in to Sherlock's room with a heavy heart. There are time when he wished he was oblivious to the world of medicine. Maybe "ignorance was bliss" in these circumstances…

As soon as John opened the door Sherlock sighed loudly and spoke softly. Though it was obvious the light still pained his head and eyes, Sherlock fought to keep his eyes open thus having the ability for analysing every part of John from head to toe. He needed answers just as much needed them too.

He saw.

He understood perfectly.

"Tell me John. Be direct about it. You have received information that is troubling; no doubt it is about my reasons for lying on this hospital bed. You're hiding information hoping it is wrong, that the doctors are wrong but deep down you know they are not. Your left hand is twitching again uncontrollably. No, it is not from stress-though clearly you are stressed as your appearance is dishevelled- but more so from concern or worry. You know information that is not good to put it mildly. What is it, or are you going to have me deduce it fully?"

John held his hands together in attempt to stop it and just stood in the by door awkwardly looking at the wall with the saddest expression Sherlock had ever seen the doctor wear.

Sherlock's heart sank as he saw the hand tremble even when being held firmly.

_"I thought I had fixed that! Why does his hand still tremble?! I thought I had fixed John. There has to be an answer to everything. Everything is an experiment. Every experiment has answers, 'nothing' is not answer, and rather it is a lack of having and answers. John was full and whole again. His life was transformed to have meaning, more meaning that scraping a meagre existence on an army pension. His limp better not come back! It cannot! That would surely break his spirit. It is psychosomatic, that can be cured. I fixed him. John is happy now. John! What's happened to you? Why are you reverting to your past ways? I am going to be fine, just you wait and see. Soon we will be chasing criminals all across London again- perhaps even chasing cabbies, those are your personal favourite are not they? _

_Why John!? Is the news really that terrible for both of us?_

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A-N: A-N: Thank you for reading and thank you for all your lovely comments. They are the highlight of my day when I find messages and review. Enjoy the continuation. As always, voice your opinions- I'd like to hear them.

Best wishes to each of you!  
Xx


	9. Time is of the Essence

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**Chapter 9**

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_Why John!? Is the news really that terrible for both of us?_

Much to Sherlock's relief, John did not limp to the seat by Sherlock's bed. Once seated, Sherlock eyed John once all over again hoping to deduce the exact reasons for this sudden change in behaviour. John remained silent only staring blankly at the whitewashed wall.

"_His expression is sullen and avoiding eye contact. Not waiting to initiate the conversation. Hands clasped tightly together and deep in thought. The hand trembles still. That hand! Why!? I must find a cure for it. It has been cured before; surely it can be cured again."_

"Sherlock", John began quietly using the tone he reserved for when speaking with patients concerning unhappy news.

"I have just returned from speaking with the doctors. It took far longer than expected. I'm pleased that you didn't do anything rash in my absence. He attempted to lighten the ambience, but Sherlock remained stoic in expression. If a tuning fork had been placed in the room, it would have droned deafeningly loud. How is your headache, improved?

"It is within a tolerable range, but I doubt that is of any significance compared to the news you are about to share. Don't beat around the bush, speak now...please. John. I must know. "Sherlock demanded in hushed tones, then closed his eyes and folded his arms across his abdomen waiting. Waiting with a dreadful feeling rising in his mind.

_"Sherlock said "please". Sherlock rarely is polite to people, I am no exception. He surely isn't feeling 'tolerable'. I know I do not have that brilliant mind of Sherlock, however, I know he is lying to me. It is more likely that he has a severe headache, his form is rigid. Even with his eyes close, the slight movement of them make the term 'tolerable' less convincing. He rarely complains, but I do know he hasn't been feeling his best lately. Then, again he does his best to hide almost everything from me concerning his mental or physical health, that stubborn pride of his gets in the way far too much… I hope he takes the news well. I wish the doctors were wrong! He is far too young for this! He is no spring chicken, but this should not have even been a thought at least twenty years from now. Why him of all the human beings on earth!? The pompous fool has been dealt a horrible hand, how I wish I could trade mine with him. If only it were possible, I would do it in a heartbeat. He's my best friend. My only true friend. "_

John did his best to deliver the poison as gently as could be expected.

Sherlock drew a sharp breath and remained expressionless. John wondered if there would be anything to be said that would appease the man. No, nothing at all would change the facts. The cold hard truth can be hidden beneath a mound of sweet and wonderful things, but that would not change the nature of the news.

"John. How long? I need to know. Time is very important to me now.", he said staring at the plain white ceiling.

"I don't know Sherlock. I wish I could give you an estimate. I truly don't know. I...I...am sorry Sherlock. Really. I am. Just recover your strength first, and then we'll climb this mountain together."

"I know John. I know. Go. Eat and rest. I will not go anywhere. I need to be in my Mind Palace."

Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.

* * *

A-N: The next chapter will be longer to make up for this short one. I know many of you have asked what happened to Sherlock, it will be revealed soon enough. Be patient a little while longer my lovely readers! I want to make sure that my story is medically sound for the most part. I don't want to write something that is impossible from a medical standpoint. The coming chapter will explain more. Thank you for reading! As always comments are appreciated.

Xx


	10. Yorrick and John

**CREDIT BELONGS WHERE CREDIT IS DUE**

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**Chapter 10**

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Reluctantly John left the room and headed to the flat. He needed to tell dear sweet Mrs. Hudson. She would not take the news as calmly as Sherlock had; he mentally braced himself for the flood of emotions that would come.

Silently entering the flat John trudged his way up the squeaky stairs, and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The time spent at the hospital sucked out all his energy. As Sherlock's brilliant brain deduced, his hand trembled still. Sigh. He knew Sherlock would have seen it, even if his hands had been hidden in his pockets. Another sad sigh escaped him.

_"This is terrible! Very 'not good'. I need to tell Mrs. Hudson soon. Not now, but soon. I dread to know how she will take the news. She's too kind to us both, putting up with our antics at all hours of the night. This will surely do her in. "_

Finally after several attempts, John had a hot cup of earl grey in one hand, and a bag of ice chips in the other. Plopping into his chair, he placed the injured hand on the ice. Examining the burns with more scrutiny, it turned out that it was not as bad as it looked. A bit red and swollen, but it would go away soon, he noted.

_"Steam burns hurt more than the scalding water, and I managed to burn myself with both, well am I not creative?! Apparently I cannot make tea without burning myself…how useful I have become in these recent hours. These tremours are such a nuisance; I thought Sherlock made it go away? I am grateful for his cure to my hand. At our first meeting, Mycroft captured me and deduced the reasons for those involuntary movements, but after a short while with Sherlock, it went away. Why is it back now? Yes I know, I know….I am worried, but "not stressed", according to the brilliance of Sherlock's deductions. Maybe it is subconscious mentality? _

The turn of the tide exhausted John emotionally and physically, his tired gaze rested on that hideous skull collecting dust on the mantle. God forbid if anyone touches the skull, save for his master alone. May he never see the wrath of Sherlock! Mrs. Hudson took it away once, and...well she never so much as went near the hearth for a very long time. He had quite a fit when it was missing, but seemed slightly subdued after it was firmly establish that dear, sweet 'not your housekeeper' Mrs. Hudson had taken it, and not Me! _Yes, definitely feeling the lack of mutual trust right here, thanks Sherlock…honestly, why on earth would I want a skull? What would I do with it? Act out Hamlet? Name him Yorrick? Seriously Sherlock! You must think better of me than randomly taking your things just for the fun of it. _

He felt rather foolish for acting like Sherlock, but decided to try it anyway; perhaps Sherlock's strange habits were starting to rub off on him. He talked to the skull out loud; maybe there was a reason why Sherlock kept the skull around…It was a good feeling to talk to someone, even if that someone was not alive. To use it as a sound board might not be so bad after all, as long as my neighbours do not see me. They might think me as a crazy old man, John reasoned with himself. As John spoke to the skull, he strode over to the window and suck a glance outside, checking if anyone within a reasonable distance. No one was near the flat. Thank goodness for that at least!

_Ugh! I feel like a fool talking to you! Great losing my mind while I am at it. No one better be watching me lose my mind or I will never hear the end of it. You are a thing! A skull! You're dead and cannot respond. What is wrong with me!?So help me Hamlet! If I am going to talk to you then you are going to need a name, I cannot keep calling you "skull" or "you". It does not seem too polite, and it could become confusing. I am far from creative with names, you will be called Yorrick. I know. How original! Don't laugh at me skull, I mean Yorrick! You don't have a say, wait you cannot have a say. You cannot speak. Good grief! I need to stop now before I lose it even more. _

He paused to catch his breath, and sip his tea before he absent-mindedly continued his soliloquy.

_Oh! I just thought about it. Mycroft! Oh my! Mycroft has the whole place bugged with cameras. Great! Now I know I will never hear an end to this. Perhaps I can reason with him to NEVER under ANY circumstance show this video unless I agree to it. Who knows what it would do to Sherlock's inflated head- burst from too much hot air?_

He let out a small chuckle at the thought. That six foot tall man-child was certainly a character of personalities all to his own. For shame, that man-child sometimes threw tantrums worse than several two years olds together. _Really Sherlock, you are in your thirties or early forties. You are not TWO years old! _He never would give his exact age, only mumbled something about wanting to be mysterious.

Unexpectedly, he succumbed to another wave of sadness. He sunk back in his chair, cupping his face in the palm of his hands, willing himself not to cry.

_You...you...are too young. Way too young for this?! Even I am too young for this, let alone you! Oh gosh! Why does it have to be this way? _

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**Thanks for reading! Sorry this is kind of a cliffhanger, I didn't want to wait too much longer before I updated.  
**

**Xx**


	11. Sherlock and His Mind Palace

**CREDIT BELONGS WHERE CREDIT IS DUE**

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**Chapter 11**

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As John left, he called in the doctor to speak with Sherlock; he could not do it himself. It hurt him too much, this was too personal. John had given more than his fair share of depressing diagnoses to patients; it was time for the doctor to give his. Sherlock's doctor was middle-aged, but due to the stress of the profession he looked at least five times older. He was a widower with three children, clearly obvious given the status of his wedding band, speech patterns and disposition. He was intelligent and got straight to the point, didn't make an effort for small talk. Sherlock appreciated that; he loathed small talk claiming it "made for too much stupid in the room." During the diagnosis, a stoic expression remained on the consulting detective's face. It was a face he used many times in countless situations, but for a reason unknown to his brilliant mind, he had a hard time keeping his composure together underneath that mask.

_"Wandering through the corridors of his Mind Palace he sought answers in a room labelled "Cases". What is this 'condition' the doctor told me about? I have heard of it vaguely before, somewhere along a case…must not have been important since I deleted it. But, wait...portions of that case are coming back to me now. It was a "Christmas Murder" type case…solved in 3 days…something about the victims having limited sight and hearing, and the attacker knew that ahead of time so used it to his advantage. Oh, yes...He waited until the lights were dimmed and wore slippers to cover the sound of his heels clicking on the tile. The victims did not stand a chance. For any ordinary person, the victims' death would have seemed to be 'ordinary'. However, there was more than meets the eye because the corpses were found in a particular position; it was clearly obvious that those had no peripheral vision. One victim could not see out of the corner in his left eye, but was deaf in his right. Head cocked left and left eye staring strangely, much unfocused….but there is an adjoining room with more information….no...No. Not about cases and victims. It was a small closet labelled "Sherlock's Health" It is about me! Think Sherlock! This IS important. What is 'it'?"_

Sherlock stared at the ceiling trying to remember what it was exactly. He knew it was something important, but had deleted it, deeming it not worthy of remembering.

Then he bolted up into a sitting position, instantly regretting that decision, for it sent another wave of dizziness to him. Huffing out an annoyed sigh, he resigned himself to reclining on his back perfectly still recalling the memory precisely. So there had been a reason for deleting this particular bit of information, it was about his family and their health. The curse of genetics had dealt him a horrible hand. Yes, the reason for storing it in the farthest room of in the enormous palace.

_Of course Mycroft never bothered with it, but why should he?! He has nothing to be concerned of! He's not the one with the Sword of Damocles looming over his head. I am! Now I understand the Greek legend so much more. How conveniently I had forgotten about it until now. Come back to bite me, I guess. I do not deserve it! I loathe it.  
_

He fought hard to keep his barriers up and not let a tear fall down that sullen face. With that dismal thought, Sherlock realised how grave the situation would turn out to be. His invincible walls were shattered. A flood of tears poured out from that trembling body, enough tears stored for a lifetime streamed into the pillow. There was nothing worse than this. This was it. This was the end. Life as Sherlock knew it ended the moment the doctor opened his mouth to confirm the fears he buried in the dungeon of his Mind Palace.

_"I might as well be dead, would have been a better choice than this. Nothing more could come from it. I know that my health was not as it used to be...well that would be expected with the profession. It was taxing on the mind and body, especially when it came to apprehending criminals, since the oh so magnificent Scotland Yard could not so much as keep the peace in the office, much less so about London. Especially not with Anderson around, he has zero intelligence Maybe that is why the Yard is so inept? He brings down the IQ of the whole place? Gosh Anderson! You're such a dim-bulb, I am honestly flabbergasted that you are in this field of work and can actually maintain a position here, unless Donovan had a hand in keeping you from being fired by the Chief Superintendent Ugh! Sally Donovan! You are no better than Anderson, forever pointing out the obvious. You are the 'Freak'. Any blind man could see twice as better than the lot of you two idiots!" _

The intricacies of his mind slammed in to a brick wall. For a full moment he was astounded of his own words.

_"What on earth did I just say? Where did that come from, left field? The sky? Sight is precious, all the senses are precious, but without sight how will I complete The Work?! The work! Details are the key to solving every case. Without my sight, what is there left for me? Nothing. I am useless. My brain will rot and I will be forced to die a slow and painful death unless..."  
_

For the next few hours, Sherlock shouted indecent adjectives at his condition. He had hoped that by forgetting, it would never show itself, but sadly biology is partial and always manifests itself in some form. Those years of skipping visits to the optometrist because of countless cases had come to haunt him now. He wished that he had more male siblings, though such a cruel wish he knew it was, but couldn't help feel that way. At least it would be a one-fourth chance in having the autosomal recessive retinal disorder gene that led to macular degeneration. It wouldn't be half as terrible if he had been twice his present age, but no, of course not, the evil Genetics decide to bring about the curse at least two decades earlier. A curse meant for Sherlock when he was well 'over the hill'. Oh how the curse danced in his face, he could almost feel the hand of Genetics sniping at his vision. One by one, with each strand cut led closer to the world of black nothingness. Helas, he had 'it'. The bad one. The cursed one. The evil one. Mycroft had the good one. The fortunate one. He hated Mycroft! IT IS NOT FAIR!

With absolutely nothing to do except sulk in a pool of misery in his Mind Palace, he resorted to his anchor.

He called John.

He needed him more so now than ever.

John was his stronghold.

* * *

_"John."_

_"Hello Sherlock, how do you feel?"_

_"Fine...could you come...please?"_

_"Yes Sherlock. I'll be there in ten minuets."_

_"Thank you, John"_

As he rung off, John realised that Sherlock was most likely very shaken by the news. He said 'please' and 'thank you', those words only came out in times of distress and despair. John felt sad for Sherlock, but he couldn't afford to lose his composure in front of his best friend. He downed the last sip of his third cuppa and headed toward the hospital.

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**A-N: As always, thank you for your lovely comments. I do appreciate them and they are the highlight of my day. **

******Thank you a million!  
Xx**


	12. Note

**Author's Note.**

This story is currently being revised so there will not be any further updates until a later date. A huge thank you to all the readers, having an audience encourages me to write better, so that is why I am rewriting everything I have so far.

My other pieces are not being revised only updated.

Thank you for understanding!


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